


Blue

by alittlefellowinawideworld



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlefellowinawideworld/pseuds/alittlefellowinawideworld
Summary: “At first, the device only half worked, it only sent energy through time, not matter. It jumped the very souls right out the bodies.” - Season 1, Episode 7: Weaponized Soul





	Blue

“At first, the device only half worked, it only sent energy through time, not matter. It jumped the very souls right out the bodies.” - Season 1, Episode 7: Weaponized Soul

In the end, Estevez winds up back at the precinct.

Where the fuck else would he go? Brotzmann and the weird kid were deposited at their apartment and the hospital respectively. Lydia was safe, alive and safe, and probably halfway to Australia or some place  
if Farah Black had anything to say about it. The case was over, the missing girl was found, and Zim…..

Truth be told, Estevez doesn’t have much of anything going on beside the job. He wasn’t a veteran of the precinct, he’d only been partnered with Zimmerfield for a few years now, but the work, the missing faces, filled his whole day with not much room for else besides crap food and snatches of rest. Telling  
himself he could take it easy when the next kid was found, when the next family got closure, when another file was closed. Zim had gotten that. They’d spent more hours in that beat up car of his than in their own apartments, sharing burgers and fries from Dick’s while he tried to convince his friend to come to the gym with him that weekend. They’d talked about music, and Zim’s 2 grown kids that lived over by Spokane. And the case, always the case.

They had just been two guys doing the best they could, even when the Spring girl’s disappearance threw  
shark murders, and soul swapped dogs, and a whole other shitstorm of unbelievable facts at them.

Zimmerfield maintained his focus and stormed into that animal transfer unit, kicking down doors like a goddamn action hero. Estevez followed, and called for help, and stood off to the side while his partner and best friend was shot with a crossbow by some bald, hippie freak.

The man had been working at this job for over 25 years.

No one stops Estevez when he walks into the station.

It seems like a matter of moments before he winds up back at his desk. Did anyone even look at him?  
Say anything? 

He doesn’t remember walking through the halls, a combination of muscle memory and lingering, haunting weariness guiding him blindly across the bullpen and into their office, into his familiar chair. The eyes from missing posters line a silent, blurry vigil in the darkened office, but Estevez doesn’t need to turn from his usual angle in order to remember their faces. He's had too many eyes staring at him this week, too many bad ends. The desk chair makes no sound as he leans back and close his eyes.

What was he doing here?

What was he going to do now?

The past two days had been a blur of adrenaline and firefights and way too much whiskey. But those  
distractions were gone now, leaving behind a bad taste in his mouth. Smoke and the tang of copper.

Even with his eyes closed, Estevez couldn't escape the scent. It went beyond smell now, staining his brain with the memory of it and drowning the coffee and old carpet and paper smell that had marked their domain. 

He's a cop, he's dealt with bad ends before and kept moving forward. He's a cop.

Was a cop.

Estevez is out of his chair without realizing, pounding and kicking at his desk with the ferocity of someone backed into a corner. Each blow building his anger, building his frustration-there was no one left to fight! Everything was fucking over and he was supposed to just sit here and take it-

Something smooth and metallic rolls off of the desk, and he is halfway through the act of picking it up to smash against the wall before his mind registers what is in his hand. 

Not a pen, a long metallic rod, lighter than it looks. Tapered at one end, it was shining even in the dim light leaking between the blinds. 

Rather than drop it, Estevez's grip tightens around the weapon. The bolt he had pulled out of his partner. 

He doesn't even know why he brought it here. He recalls hazy plans of shoving it in his chief's face, of stabbing it in the asshole's chest and showing him what happened to good men when you do nothing. When you stand to the side and they bleed out, still trying to do good, fighting for the case with their last god damned breath, with the last light in their eyes.

God, his eyes. Estevez gripps the crossbow bolt and snaps it. 

Pain. 

A shock, like a blow to the head, and all of his limbs lock into place. As the world slows, he sees a light surround him, feels it through him, and everything washes out into the brightest, fiercest blue.

*********************************  
He was the same, the man standing in front of him. The same rumpled suit, the one he kept at the office for when cases dragged into the early hours. Hands burrowed into pockets, and bushy eyebrows, and a tilt of his head as Zimmerfield looked at him that was fondly, sharply, painfully familiar. 

The blue static-glow that surrounded him was new.

"Don't leave!"

Not a way to greet an old friend. The words were out of Estevez's mouth before the rational part of his brain could wonder where the hell they actually were, could remind him that there was no one here to beg, no one to leave. Zim was gone.

Estevez had pleaded before, had cursed and cried and held no hope but pushed their car until it shuddered, and his partner had shuddered and then Estevez had been left with silence. Of course Zim was not here, wherever here was, there was no coming back, no matter estevez's reeling, off kilter thought in the Spring mansion. They had been dragged into a world of talking dogs and time machines but none of it made any sense, none of it was kind. 

His partner wasn't here, he probably wasn't here himself. Was dead or just about on the floor of his former office in one last terrible joke the world decided to heap onto his day. 

"We were supposed to be in this together," Estevez continued, because even if this was his brain winking out of existence, one last flash in the pan, then god damn it he still had things to say. 

The apparition of his former partner said nothing. The quirk of an eyebrow was all Estevez received in response, and it was still too much, too fond and familiar for him to handle.

"You're dead." He said it softly, hoarsely, as if it would somehow lesten the pain to say it, to hear it. "We had no backup, and you went ahead anyway, and you got shot, and I..."

Nothing from the apparition, and the silence was the most terrifying part of this experience. It wasn't right, wasn't natural. Not for his partner, the man who had taught him the ropes when he first joined missing persons, had corrected his paperwork and played up Estevez's bad cop routine with a smirk lurking behind his glasses. Zimmerfield is, had been, a man of few words, but not with him. Not like this. 

"Answer me, man!" The words were a scream at the void. 

Faster than human, the image of Zimmerfield appeared in front of him. A hand on his shoulder sent a shock through Estevez's system. But the weight felt real and familiar, the comforting gesture of a friend. 

"You did good."

Zimmerfield was still surrounded by a corona of crackling light, but his eyes were the same blue. 

"This job doesn't hand out many happy endings, but you did good. You brought her home."

**Author's Note:**

> This proved to be a very difficult time to write in my life, from the bad ( losing my job and seeing my grandmother to the hospital) and the good (a friend getting engaged), so this story is not complete. 
> 
> But even so, it's been cathartic to write so far, and its been reaffirming to see that this fandom will never leave my system.
> 
> I want to thank my absolutely fantastic and patient beginner bang artist, holistea on tumblr (https://holistea.tumblr.com/post/174086645687/spooky-scary-zimmerfield-as-my-contribution-for)


End file.
